The Pale Garden
"The fog’s got teeth, Elias. You feel that? It’s eating the stone." Magistrate Vane did not wait for a reply, his boots crunching on the gravel path that wound up the moor, the sound sharp and brittle against the heavy, damp silence. Elias Thorne followed, his shoulder aching with the familiar, grinding pain of a man who had spent twenty years carrying the weight of a border that did not exist....
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